Risky Business
by Average-Fanatic
Summary: Gregory finally learns to really live after a strange mercenary tries to kill him at a young age. Three years later, they're forced to work together / Grestophe  Christophe x Gregory  Rated T for cursing, violence, and suggestive scenes.
1. Chapter 1

**This story contains Yaoi and a bit of violence but nothing too gruesome so if you can't handle it, leave now.**

**For those that have decided to stay, please enjoy this Christophe x Gregory story myself and my friend Funkychik rped on Gaia. So not all the credit goes to myself.**

**Average Fanatic played Gregory Yardale, a spoiled rich kid whose life was changed with a near death experience.**

**Funkychik played Christophe DeLorne, an angry French boy who will one day fall for the British swine and protect him (even though Gregory insists he can protect himself).**

**I do not own South Park, if I did... well lets just say Kyle would be a little, oblivious man whore, Wendy wouldn't exist, Damien, Christophe, and Gregory would come back, and oh the yaoi... =w=**

**We love comments.**

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><p>Christophe DeLarne, or The Mole as he prefers, is just a simple young fourteen year old mercenary. Yeah so maybe he's not so simple, but he needs something to do. And being a mercenary makes him happy, unlike everything else in this messed up world. Sure he keeps his little hobby a secret from his mother, but who doesn't keep secrets from their parents? Especially when they intimidate you into listening to them, but lie to them and say you love God and they are putty in your hands. That lie is never easy though, Christophe seems to die a little on the inside each and every time he uses it.<p>

Tonight's mission is a little special, of course they all are but this one is different. Gregory Yardale, a spoiled rich boy brat who lives in the nicest mansion in town. How completely annoying. Some British kid who happens to be the same age as the Mole is the target.

Mission:  
>Track down target Gregory Yardale, age fourteen, British, blonde.<p>

Objective:  
>Kill Gregory.<p>

Seems simple enough, but there always has to be some annoying inconvenience. British people are high up on Christophe's list of people and things he hates. So killing some British kid will actually bring some good in his life, unlike God who seems to always ruin his life. Living in London has been hard on the Mole, everywhere he goes he hears the same annoying British accent, and the same mannerisms. Why his mother wanted to move here, he'll never know. Dressed in a tight black shirt, black pants, black boots, and black fingerless gloves Christophe makes his way into the Yardale's yard. With his trusty shovel safely secured to his back, he takes a quick look around the yard. The very last thing the Mole needs is guard dogs attacking. Seeing the coast as being clear, Christophe smirked to himself as he made his way towards the house.

Now if any doors were unlocked, this would be a piece of cake. But alas none were. If Christophe didn't know how to pick locks he would of just broke a window. Good thing he can pick locks, a talent that only fools wouldn't see as useful. Now which lock to pick? Back door? No, far too predictable. Everyone always breaks in through the back door. So what's left? The front door. Walking to the door he pulled out his lock picking kit and within moments was able to successfully pick to the lock. Too easy. Stupid Brits. Stuffing the kit back into his pocket the Mole slowly pushed the door open and walked inside. Christophe, of course, closed the door. He didn't want any unwanted noise to get out. Now here's the real question, where would the British pig be hiding, and who else is home?

Meanwhile, Gregory Yardale was the son of a very powerful business man and a merciless lawyer. Everything has always been proper, the best, and absolutely no failure. Failure was not accepted in this household and Gregory was just fine with that. He had tutors come over to teach him. Never would he set foot in a school, not even a private school. His parents wanted him molded into the perfect child, a prodigy and Gregory was just content with that. This fourteen year old boy was on the second floor, in the library reading a calculus book. Yes, calculus. His IQ was already far beyond that of any political representative but it still wasn't good enough.

He just sat there in silence, wearing a pressed white blouse, black pants, and dress shoes. His hair was neat, bangs covering his forehead but never getting in the way that would be unacceptable. No, he was clean cut and proper just like his parents who were not home, they rarely were but that was normal. He was used to spending time alone with his thoughts, playing the piano, or studying. That was his life, that was all that existed.

Stretching he massaged the back of his neck, growing tired. Closing his book he set it to the side and stood, pushing his chair in and turning off the lights. He walks out of the library, closing the door behind him and listened to any sound at all. Nothing but silence. He chef must have gone home for the night. That was fine, there would be something lift in the kitchen like always. Walking down the stairs he wondered if he'd see his parents for Christmas but cast away the thought. No need for such... hopes. They wouldn't be there, like always.

Flipping on the sitting rooms lights he looked around. Something smelled like... dirt. He scrunched up his nose in disgust. Who would be foolish enough to trail dirt into this house? Maybe that stupid gardener who kept coming inside because it was "so cold outside". He should be used to it, it was his job. Such worthless help. Glancing around the room he thought he had heard footsteps. "Mother? Father?" he called out wondering if they were home early. But they never were so why would today be any different?

Christophe took one look around and instantly hated the place, it smelt like… linens and flowers. And it smelt nothing like the earth and cigarette smell that went along with the brunette. If Christophe had been an arsonist this would be one of his targets. But arson was a child's crime, and the Mole was no child. Taking a casual stroll through the house, he had to guess that only little Gregory was home. Perfect, no need to act so innocent with others. Hearing a voice, which he assumed was Gregory's, confirmed it. No one else was home, this would be too easy that is would be laughable. Walking towards the voice he entered one of the rooms the fancy rich called "sitting rooms" and the very idea upset him. Maybe it was because everything opposite from Christophe upset him.

Seeing the target alone gave Christophe a headache, so annoying. "'ello Gregory…" he said simply as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Flipping it open he brought the pack to his face and pulled out a cigarette with his lips, moving it to the corner of his mouth with his tongue he stuffed the pack back into his pocket. To Gregory, Christophe probably looked like a workers son. Or at least would be stupid enough to believe so. Pulling out a cheap lighter he lit his cigarette and took a long drag, might as well enjoy work. Stuffing the lighter into his pocket, the Mole smirked. "Your mozzer and fazzer, zey are not 'ome… oui?" He questioned already knowing the answer.

Pulling his shovel off of his back he used it as a crutch to lean against, the shovel of course getting dirt on the carpet. Having been a mercenary since he was nine, Christophe learned it's best to enjoy each and every mission. Till kill someone, to take them away from loved ones, to be hated by so many, Christophe didn't care. He didn't care what others thought about him, he'd always act the same and nothing would change that sweet fact.

The smell was more prominent now. Gregory looked over his shoulder and scrunched up his nose again. That smoke, his dirty close, just everything about him was utterly revolting. The dirty boy looked around the same age as himself, maybe a few months older but still the same age. He assumed it was the son of one of the help, maybe the gardener. But why was he here? Family members of the help weren't allowed. It seems one of them broke the rules. He's have to fire whoever his father or mother was. Sad but he wouldn't dwell too much on it if not at all.

Crossing his arms he raised an eyebrow. "You know my name, isn't it only right to know yours?" he stated in a bored tone. His eyes narrowed as he lit the disgusting cancer stick. Placing his hand to his nose in a proper yet rude manner he glared. "Do not smoke that in here..." he began and realized he was French by his accent and shook his head. "Of course... only your kind would be so rude as to do that in someone else's home." Looking him over again he smirked and laughed in a way making it obvious he looked down on him. "Just get back from an approved school?" he asked mockingly.

He tiled his head at the question. "Why would you like to know that? If you're hoping for money then you'd best leave. We do not associate with beggars," he scoffed and looked over at the clock. It was getting late and it was his routine to already be in the shower. He hated it when his routine was broken. His eyes widened as the shovel was set on his nice, clean carpet. Just what was he thinking doing something like that? "I am becoming browned off," he growled and glared at the offending dirt that was so obvious to see on the white carpet.

Christophe took a long hit from his cigarette, oh how much he loved the sweet nicotine filling his lungs. Christophe, deciding on being somewhat nice, choose to give the British swine his name, "Christophe." That was all he would be getting out of the Mole on his name, the boy didn't need to know anything else. Listening to the boy speak it was almost funny, almost. Taking another hit he blew the smoke towards Gregory to mock the blonde, "Why?" He chuckled ignoring the demand. "I do not care boy, did you zink I would?" He chuckled. Christophe shook his head, sure he was a bad kid but he has never been caught. The blonde was just assuming things, like hell he'd be going to such a place.

"Gregory, your mozzer she iz lawyer, no? Your fazzer 'e iz business man, no?" He rolled his eyes at the other thinking Christophe was a beggar. "I am not 'ere to get money from you, my pay will come when I leave." He stated simply in a matter of fact tone. Listening to Gregory say he was annoyed all Christophe did was roll his eyes. So annoying… Christophe tapped his shovel on the ground a few more times putting more dirt on the ground. Why not annoy the British fag a bit more before getting down to business. "England, a good land… too bad she iz filled with trash." He grinned as he lifted up his shovel and rested it on his shoulder. "Among three Italians you will find two clergymen; among three Spaniards two braggarts; among three Germans two soldiers; among three Frenchmen, two chefs, and among three Englishmen two whoremongers." He placed his cigarette back in the corner of his mouth. Not an impressive insult but one that would bother a stuck up rich boy that's for sure.

Christophe... Such a common French name. It was disgusting. Gregory's eyebrow twitched in annoyance as he elegantly waved away the smoke from his face. This was definitely just a commoner, a poorly taught commoner at that. "Anyone with the slightest hint of manners would," he stated simply as if it was obvious. Gregory had never met a commoner before, he was only told by his mother and father that they were greedy, that they would do anything to get their hands on their money. Not only that but they were also dirty, stupid, and just a complete waste of their time and Gregory believed every word of it. Why wouldn't he believe it? His parent would never lie to him and he had never met a commoner before.

"Yes, father works in a building society and mother is a lawyer in his building," he said and decided to draw his gaze to something less disgusting, like his nails. He looked them over. Perfect as usual. "Oh? Going to some job at the dump?" he asked with a smile, still paying no attention to him. But when he heard the shovel tapping on the ground his eyes shot up to watch in horror. Talk about adding insult to injury. Growling he watched him. "Then go back to France you chav," he snapped. His anger began to rise listening to that insult. His hands began to form into fists and he nodded to the door. "Get out of my home before I call the copper," he stated as he began to walk towards the phone on the opposite side of the room.

Talking to Gregory was… such a waste of precious time. Sticking his cigarette in the corner of his mouth, he decided to make it a little bit more clear as to why he was there. "Did you know zey 'ave enemies?" He asked casually before laughing at his question. "No, no tu pourri-gâté gosse. I am 'ere to kill you." He rolled his eyes at the blondes threat, Christophe would never let the police get involved. Last thing he needed was to get caught right now. Watching Gregory all Christophe could think was, '_e's far too careless._' Quickly he walked up to the blonde, and gripped his shirt, throwing the Brit to the now dirty (because of Christophe) carpet, he placed his foot on Gregory's chest. Putting pressure on the Brit's chest to make sure he doesn't move, he shook his head looking down at him. How should he kill him? Use the shovel to bash his head in? Use the shovel to cut his head off? Pretty much anything with his shovel would make him happy.

"Are you ready to die, Gregory Yardale?" He asked with a yawn to show the other was boring him. But… was this worth it? This boy, no… this child was completely blind to everything else in the word. It was completely pathetic to hear him down talk another, did this British swine even have friends? Sure Christophe had no real friends, but he didn't care. It wasn't about friends to him, right now it was about the thrill. Friends was something he could get as an adult.

Gregory raised an eyebrow. Enemies? He never really thought about it. Who would ever hate his parents? They were good people, paid taxes, and they were smart. What is there to hate about them? He was taken aback by his statement. Here to kill him? "You must be joking soap dodger," he snickered and quickened his pace to the phone but was stopped just a foot away from it and was thrown to the dirty round. Now his shirt was wrinkled and dirty, something he'd have to send to the cleaners to fix. But more important matters needed to be taken care of at the moment, like the heavy foot on his chest. Quickly grabbing his ankle with both hands he tried to move it off of him but to no avail. He was much too weak and Christophe was too strong. He looked into the others eyes, panicking.

Shaking his head he managed to repeat the words, "No, no, no, no..." He didn't want to die. It wasn't until now, his life flashing before his eyes, did he realize how utterly boring his life was. He had rarely been into the city, kissed someone, or even had a friend. There were so many things he wanted to do now. Panting lightly, his heart beated faster and faster, threatening to pop right out of his chest in fear. He looked into the others eyes, practically begging Christophe to spare his life.

Christophe watched Gregory and rolled his eyes. Pathetic. Completely pathetic in every way possible. This was so pathetic it wasn't even funny anymore. Looking down into Gregory's eyes, he recognized the look all too well. Begging to continue on with life, and begging is something that is just disgraceful to hear. That's when Christophe realized it, "You know what Gregory?" He questioned taking a long drag from his cigarette while attaching his shovel to his back once again. "You aren't even _worth_ eet."He put an emphasis on the word 'worth' to turn it into an insult. "You are dead whezzer I kill you or not, only difference iz in one you breath." He said finishing off his cigarette. Lifting his foot of the others chest he rolled his eyes in disgust. "'ave fun with _life_." He said as he turned and walked out of the sitting room. Christophe let him live because it was pointless to kill him, it would be both a waste of time and energy. The Mole walked out of the mansion and down the street back into the horrid town known as London.

All Gregory could do was fist his delicate hands around the boys' pants and pray to God that this would end painlessly or even not at all. He stared into the brunette's eyes, praying to him for mercy. "Wh-what?" he managed to say wanting to answer each of his questions just in case they might give him a way out of here. His eyes widened at his next words, releasing his pants and letting them fall to the ground. Wasn't worth it? The French boy pitied him. But should it matter? He was alive... but at what cost? His dignity and self respect left with the brunette.

He just lied there, staring at the ceiling. Dead... he was dead. His life was meaningless, trivial, boring. Something had to change, he had to prove to himself and to the brunette that he deserved to live. Pushing himself up he walked throughout the house, thinking of all that needed to be done and how to hide it. It would be easy to hide since he was always practically alone. No one would notice if he disappeared every now and then to learn how to fight. But he had to remember not to get any marks or bruises on his face, can't let the parents find out about his new hobby.

Now in his clean, polished bathroom he opened a number of drawers looking for something specific. Gel. Something he was given long ago but found no use for until now. Slicking his hair back, only a few strands rebellious enough not to stay back, he smirked. This was the new Gregory Yardale, one that wanted to live life and prove his life truly meant something.


	2. Chapter 2

It has been three years, four months, and sixteen days since he had met Christophe. Gregory hasn't seen or heard of him since then. At first he thought he might have died seeing as how this was a dangerous job but he quickly tossed the thought away and beat it to death. There was no way Christophe could be dead, not yet, not before he proved he had deserved to live that day. And yes, he had begun to really live after that incident.

He had joined something called a fight club for boys his age but much less civilized. He watched them fight, learning from observation before he finally stepped forward. His fighting style was different than theirs. They threw random punches, never thinking it all through, but Gregory did. He would calculate every move he did just before he did it. The fights would end quickly depending on the opponent and it was less bloody than the other fights. Step one was complete.

Step two was a bit more difficult than he had originally hoped. Who knew getting into the mercenary field was tough. You had to know the right person, say just the right things before you could figure out how to get jobs. But he had gotten in, was given jobs around London and made a name for himself. His parents none the wiser.

But now he didn't need to hide it anymore. He was seventeen, tricked his family into thinking he was already in college, and had a large sum of money in the bank. A few months ago he had been in America with his 'partner' who had tried to kill him after a week. Why? Who knew? Maybe someone really wanted him dead. Either way, he was now in Paris, France to meet a new partner. Wearing an orange blouse, brown pants, boots, brown gloves, and a black belt he was sitting in a dingy bar filled with drunk and smoking men. It wasn't his choice of for a meeting place but the Moles. Horrible code name. So here he was, sitting at a back table, arms crossed, and staring straight ahead as if he was somewhere completely else, like a nice tea shop.

Christophe was able to get away from his mother, telling the woman that he needed to go out and see the world while she stayed in London. Naturally the Mole moved back home to the one place in the world where he wouldn't hate everything, Paris, France. Here is where he has enjoyed life, somewhat. The Mole never needed a partner, he worked alone on each and every mission. The only reason he would have someone with him is if the one paying him insists on joining him, but that was always so annoying. And something always went wrong , like guard dogs.

He wouldn't mind a partner, someone to take care of the boring stuff, to set up the missions. Which is what brings him to this bar. This bar is one of Christophe's favorites in the city, the alcohol they serve is perfect and the smell from the many cigarettes well that's another story (a good one of course). Dressed in a dark brown tight shirt, black pants, black army boots, brown fingerless gloves, and his trusty shovel attached to his back, he walks into the bar. Now where is this partner?

How long had Gregory been sitting here in this rancid, smoke and idiot filled bar you ask? Over an hour. He was growing more and more impatient by the second as drunk men would come over and speak to him in French, such a disgusting language. Almost ready to leave and forget all about this Mole he saw something that made him freeze. A man had just walked in the bar. This brunette was so familiar... His clothing style, the way he smoked a cigarette, and that shovel. His eyes narrowed and he finally put a name to that face. Christophe.

He wondered if he should approach the French man, show him that he did deserve to live and then, of course, get revenge. All he wanted was to be able to fight him and win, tell him he wasn't worth killing. Until then, he'd never feel complete. But he couldn't do it. Not now at least. He was a British man in a room of French men. Get into a fight with one of them and they'll all attack. Best to just wait for his partner to arrive, if he ever would. Looking away from the brunette he stared at the table, not wanting to be recognized.

Taking a drag from his cigarette he took a quick look around, Christophe realized he might have been a bit late… ok so maybe he was over an hour late. But it doesn't matter, he knows the new partner will wait. Need to wait if you want the best of course. Walking to the back of the bar, where he told the new partner to meet him, he seen Gregory. No he doesn't recognize him right away. Walking to the table Christophe pulled out a seat and sat down across from Gregory. Pulling the cigarette out of his mouth he spoke, "Zorry I'm late." His words were a lie, he wasn't truthfully sorry.

Hearing the chair across from him scrape against the ground he looked up, relieved he actually showed. And who was sitting there? Christophe. So he was the Mole? Smashing... just smashing. Glaring at him he finally spoke in a calm voice, "Hello... Christophe. So you are the Mole? And here I was hoping to find someone with a bit of class and manners. Guess that was too much to ask for." He didn't want to insult him but it was hard not to. It was just so easy, they were from two different worlds.

Sticking his cigarette in the corner of his mouth, Christophe tilted his head. Wait… this guy knew him? Going silent for a moment he looked over the blonde trying to figure out who he was. So he's British based off his annoying voice and the way he presents himself, but Christophe just couldn't remember the ugly British swine. Then it hit him, "Gregory Yardale, ze spoiled rich brat who cries when ze dirt gets on 'is carpet, oui?" He chuckled taking a long drag and blowing the smoke at the other. There was a smell close to this table, which the brunette had to guess was Gregory's cologne, it stood out compared to all the other smells the bar offered. And Christophe hated the smell that most would consider nice, he wrinkled his nose slightly but didn't mention anything about it. That would be a childish move, and Christophe was no child.

Gregory narrowed his eyes as the other spoke his name. It sounded tarnished to be said in such a thick French accent. "I only cry when blood is spilt on the carpet now," he replied in a cold, bored tone. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to be insulted but he had no other choice but to accept what was going on. The mission called for two mercenaries, not one. He'd just put up with the brunette until the job was over and then fire him. The last thing he needed was to get his head smashed in with a shovel in the middle of the night. Ugh... the shovel. He could smell old blood on it from his seat.

"So you are my new partner, no?" He laughed finding it funny that the other even got into this line of work. "You vant to 'ave a life worth living Gregory?" He questioned remembering the words he used to taunt the blonde many years ago. He didn't care if he was insulting him, it was all about being entertained at the moment. With a smug look on his face he decided to ask on more question of the rich boy, "You come to Paris to look for me, mon ami? I am touched." He snickered knowing how much the other must not want to be there, and calling him a friend might add salt to the wound.

Feeling annoyed, Gregory merely nodded to both questions but could risk asking, "Is it that surprising that I decided to bring some excitement into my life?" That was it, excitement. After that day everything seemed so boring, so pointless. He kept up his studies for his parents but when the sun went down... well that's when he truly lived. The feeling of getting into a fight, not knowing what was going to happen next. It was like a drug and he wanted more and more of it. His parents would bring home woman that they'd want him to marry but after just five minutes with them he wanted to toss his tea cup against the wall, just to see if she'd even react, to do something instead of smile. He was snapped out of his thoughts at his words. Eyebrow twitching he tried to speak in a calm voice. "Find you? No, the Mole was very low on my list of candidates for this job. You just got lucky is all it is. To me, you are as useless as a bag of spanners," he replied sharply. He wouldn't let the other win, not now, not ever.

Christophe leaned back in his chair as the other disgusting boy spoke. Well he wasn't disgusting per say, just well kept. And it was a problem to get blood on the carpet? Damn… well there goes the security deposit on the apartment, not like he'd get it back anyway. With a nod the brunette replied, "Oui, I figured you'd find some cow with 'er teeth every which way and 'ave childrens where you barely see zem or each ozzer." The Mole always found high society to be dull and boring, where so called lovers rarely seen each other or their children. It was completely sad that that was considered a loving relationship to the rich.

Gregory growled. He hated the stereotypes on British people and what he hated most was that he was right. Almost every woman he was forced to meet was a stereotypical British woman. He hated it, hated it more than being unkempt and dirty. Stupid French man knew just what buttons to push... He had to admit he was a bit impressed with that though. Only a bit and that was all. But it also stung. It took Gregory a while to realize that his family life style was much different from others and he was jealous of that. Jealous of the happy, smiling families that played together and actually talked. He'd never admit it though. He just couldn't. The only person he ever told that to was his boyfriend but that is a matter for a different time.

But with all jokes aside it was time to get down to business, dropping his smug look and giggles here and there Christophe gave the blonde a serious look. "I take partnership very seriously, Ze Mole does not need to 'ave a British ass'ole trying to kill 'im ze moment we leave France. I watch your back, you want mine, oui?" He asked already making a plan to kill the blonde if he tried anything stupid like trying to kill the Mole. After all Christophe's trusty shovel never got a taste of the Brit's money loving blood.

Finally the other dropped his smug look and got down to business. It was about time. He was beginning to feel like he was going to have to be a baby minder. Looking into his dark, coal black eyes he replied in all seriousness, "As do I... I will not try to kill you and I will treat you with a tad bit of respect if you do the same." Nodding he slowly held out his hand, wanting to shake on the deal.

Watching Gregory hold out his hand for a hand shake to seal the deal wasn't necessary. But the Frenchman would take this as an opportunity to piss him off a bit, reaching out he took hold of the blonde's hand and shook it (none too gently of course) and grinned. "Zese missions are my life, I vill give you a bit of respect, but fuck me over like god and I will show you why I am called ze Mole." His tone of voice turned cold at the mention of God, it was obviously not a easy subject for him. After all everything that is messed up in the world is God's fault, and Christophe seen that.

The French man was trying to annoy him, which was obvious especially with the hand shake. But he didn't wince, didn't show any sign of weakness. He knew if he did then he would have completely lost to the smug brunette. "You must not have much of a life then," he chuckled. "I will not... as you say "fuck you over". I just want to complete the mission." So this guy had a problem with God? How interesting... He'd have to make a metal note of that for later.

"No, my life she iz boring. I never wake up smiling ready to see ze new adventures life throws at me." Christophe said with a sarcastic tone rolling his eyes. The Mole had a pretty exciting life, getting to sleep with whoever he wants, committing crimes and getting away with it, a grave robbing here and there to spice things up (it's amazing what people burry with the dead), and always doing what he wants when he wants.

Rolling his eyes he shook his head. "That is not what I meant at all. No need to throw a wobbly," he sighed and thought about how to reword his statement. "What I meant was that there are other things in life other than this," he began and thought about his boyfriend back home. "Like a relationship, love, and such." He felt like such a pansy but it was true. The man reminded him that there is more to life then killing and doing jobs. There's also love.

Listening to Gregory he did agree with him, a relationship would be nice. But that is something he doesn't need right now. "Oui, but I vill not bring a love into zis. I vill not risk zeir life for my job. Dat iz dat." He said in a bored tone, one day he would be in one, but that's a matter to deal with some other time.

Gregory could only roll his eyes at the comment. This was going to be a long partnership. Hopefully it would pay off in the end and if not then he could always kill the French man. He wouldn't be missed. Glancing at him he tilted his head. "I guess I should tell you that I have someone waiting for me. He can take care of himself and he never complains about what I do," he smirked feeling superior to him in the relationship department.

This guy has a lover waiting for him in America? It was a little hard to believe, why not work with them instead of finding a partner? "Good for you mon ami." He said simply, he'd let the Brit have that one. Christophe could care less about anything the blonde had to say about love. He wasn't really defining the country to the other, he was more so talking to himself. But then Gregory said something that had to be corrected,"No, sex iz about dominating anozzer. Sex iz animalistic eet iz all about pleasure. Eet only becomes about love when you'd do anyzzing and everyzzing to keep the ozzer close to keep zem alive and 'appy even before you get zem into bed. You 'ave not experienced eet till you see eet slip away from you." He stated his views on the matter then pulled out his pack of cigarettes and a lighter, placing one at the corner of his mouth he lit it and took a long drag.

Leaning back, Gregory blushed lightly at the thought of his lover back home. How he missed him. Glaring at the other for his words, he felt disgusted."Why have mindless sex? From what I have heard it always feels better when you truly love someone. Yes, I truly love the man back home, I will not let my work interfere with our relationship and if he asked me to stop... then I would." It was true. If he asked Gregory to quit and have a normal life then he would. He would miss the jobs, the excitement but some things are more important. You could say Gregory has his priorities straightened out.

Christophe shook his head, yes the blonde may have finally started to get a life. But he was far from having one, what a simple minded boy."Whatever you say faggot." Was his simple reply. Sure Christophe is gay himself, but the other didn't need to know that yet. Taking a hit from his cigarette he finished it and flicked what was left to a man sitting a few tables over, Christophe didn't even care that he did hit him. "I'm going to 'ave to move back to London, no?" He asked with a disgusted look on his face, if so he wasn't looking forward to it at all.

He leaned back and chuckled, shaking his head. "No, we are going to the United States. Many jobs there," he informed the other. Gregory was like a Taskmaster. He found the jobs and even gave the jobs to other mercenaries, getting a cut from the pay. He found that more easier to do then to do the job himself unless he felt like getting his hands dirty.

He stared at Gregory at the mention of the United States. But of annoying redneck hicks that were originally from England. "So… we are going to America?" He questioned in an emotionless voice. "America, ze child of Britain? America ze land of God loving 'icks, where zey 'ear an "accent" and zink eet sound perfect, but zeir accent iz sheet?" He said with anger in his voice, this clearly upset him. America was on his very long list of things the Mole hates. Yes, he would put up with being there but he wouldn't like it and he'd make sure to make that known. "At least zey are loose." He mumbled under his breath finding that to be the only thing good about American's. "When do we leave ass'ole?" He questioned a bit upset because of the whole being in the States thing. It's not like he needed to pack anything, everything he needed he was wearing and he had with him.

America... he wasn't crazy about the place but it had its perks. It was so easy to smuggle things in and out of the country. No matter how much security they had, they could always be paid off. It was a glitch in the system that worked in his favor. He loved glitches. "Yes, I believe I just said that," he sighed boredly. "Again, yes. There is no need to define the American's to me. They are fools but they have valuable things from almost every country."He had now turned his attention back to his nails. Clean as usual. Though, the next comment bothered him a bit. "Loose? Sex isn't about pleasure, it's about love," he stated and quickly turned his attention back to his nails. Love meant a lot to him, something he had always wanted. "We leave in an hour. You could probably hurry to pack your things if you need to," he said and nodded to the four, very nice, bags beside his chair.

Glancing at his bags he looked back at Gregory. Everything that he would need he has with him. Clothes, well he could always buy more. Money, the Mole has his wallet with him along with his bank cards. Phone, which is always in pocket. And his trusty shovel, what more would he need to pack? "I 'ave everyzzing I need with me beetch." He yawned boredly before using his pinky to clean out his ear, looking at his pinky finger you probably couldn't tell he cleaned his ear at all with it. He mostly did this to disgust the British man, and he was a bit bored. Once in America, depending on the place he gets, he'll make sure it's comfortable. With dark colors, somewhere to dig holes, and a cemetery (the American's must burry nice things with their dead to). But then there was something he forgot to ask, "We are not sharing a 'ome, oui?"The Mole glared at the blonde, last thing he wanted to do was be anywhere near that boy and his cologne.

He looked the other over and raised an eyebrow but didn't question it. No reason to, he already knew what he would say and he hated nothing more than a mindless conversation. At least that meant they could just head straight to the airport after this. Gregory was kind enough to buy each of their tickets. A first class ticket for himself and he was now messing with his cell phone under the table to trade in the other first class ticket for a coach seat for Christophe. At least he wasn't going to force the brunette to pay him back, he'd just take it out of his pay. Glancing away from his cell he shuddered at the sight. Completely disgusting. There was no way he was going to be stuck in a plane with him for hours. Setting his cell back in his pocket he raised an eyebrow at him. "I do not care. It is your choice but I think you would be more happier with a dirty shack on the edge of town instead of a nice, clean house in a good neighborhood."

The tan Frenchman noticed the look he was getting from the blonde, so easily disgusted he'll have to use that on him at a later time. Tilting his head at the statement, Christophe was a bit confused. So he would get to chose? Staying in the same house as a English cow, or live somewhere comfy. It was a difficult choice, on one hand he could always annoy or piss off the other around the clock, and on the other hand he could live how he wants. But it would always be fun to bother him whenever Christophe wanted. "I vill stay with you eef eet iz my choice mon ami," He said with an almost innocent looking smile on his face.

Gregory's eyebrow twitched as Christophe informed him they'd be living together. Great... he just had to give him a choice. He was so sure he wouldn't accept living with him. "Fine... you will live by my rules though," he stated and stood, grabbing his bags. "The taxi is outside." He walked through the bar and outside to see the taxi pull up to them. He waited for the driver to open the trunk to put his bags in before slipping into the back seat.

"Whatever you say mon ami," Christophe chuckled, yeah he would listen to some rules. But asking Christophe to listen to them all would never happen, just like getting him to quit smoking. Standing he watched Gregory walk out of the bar and snickered, even the way he walked showed he was a rich pretty boy. Following him outside he pulled his shovel off of his back and glared at the taxi driver when he tried to take it from him. No one touches the shovel, keeping his death glare on the driver he set his shovel in the trunk. Yeah it didn't look like the man would be attempting to touch it at all. Slipping into the back seat of the taxi next to Gregory he took a hit from his cigarette and blew the smoke out at him. Yes he did this just to piss off the uptight blonde.

Gregory's eyebrow twitched in annoyance as he fanned the smoke away from his face. "Such a child," he huffed and turned to look out the window. Hopefully it would be a peaceful drive to the airport. And Gregory was wrong, very, very wrong. All the French man did was smoke, talk about how much he hated cabs and his cologne, then spoke of his hatred towards God, how God screwed him over. He wanted nothing more than to shove that cigarette down his throat but he remained somewhat calm. Well, he did insult him back and did threaten to shove his cigarette down his throat but that only seemed to egg the brunette on. '_I hate the French_,' was all he could think when they arrived at the airport and boarded the plane. At least he'd have some peace on the plane.

Christophe laughed completely enjoying himself, why was it so fun to annoy this boy? Besides that he's a British fool and rich one at that. The entire drive to the airport was just giving the blonde a sample of the torment to come. When the insults were returned with threats all the Mole did was smirk and step everything up a notch. Boarding the plane wasn't so bad, he'd never actually gotten to sit with other passenger. Christophe usually snuck on with the luggage, so this was a nice change. Though he did get the couple sitting next to him to think he was a demon. Now where on earth would they get such a crazy idea?

For Gregory the flight wasn't that bad, it was great actually. So relaxing to be in the company of other civilized people, all in business suits and looking over paper work. Some were even typing away on their laptops. The sound brought back memories of watching his father... that is, when his father was actually home. Leaning back he closed his eyes, not wanting to think of family or work but of himself for once. He wanted to get back to his boyfriend, complain about the French man, and have an amazing night in bed with him. He'd been away from his lover for almost a week now, it was only expected that he'd get lonely. That is when he fell asleep until the plane landed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you all for the reviews, favs, and watches. I really appreciate it and promise to update a lot fastr.**

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><p>Running a hand through his hair, he grabbed his bags and walked out of the airport, not looking back to see if Christophe was following him. He knew he was. He could smell the smoke even though there was no smoking allowed here. Where was a security officer when you needed one? Oh.. that's right. He paid them all off to leave him and his "companion" alone. What a waste of money. He set his bags into the trunk of the awaiting taxi and slid into the back seat, giving the taxi driver his address. The smile on his face never faltered, even through Christophe's snide remarks about American's and everything else he usually went on about. He was probably making up for lost time on the plane.<p>

The flight was rather nice, for the first hour that is. After that a cigarette craving hit Christophe like there was no tomorrow, if the couple next to him thought he was a demon before they would of thought he was the anti-christ now. The moment the plane landed and he was off he wasted no time in pulling out his cigarettes and lighting one, taking a long drag he blew out the air slowly. Oh how he missed his sweet nicotine. Grabbing his shovel, which after some talking to and a few lies they let on the plane, he followed Gregory out of the airport and placed his shovel in the trunk. Slipping into the back seat next to Gregory he did blow smoke at the others face, the look of annoyance he gave just made it all worth it. "Gregory eef I didn't know any better I would say you were ignoring me, but failing miserably at eet." He chuckled completely enjoying bothering the blonde.

It didn't take long for the taxi to reach his home, a nice, white, two story house. Smiling happily he got out, not even flinching at the cold, snowy weather. He loved the cold. It was so much more beautiful than the heat. Grabbing his bags, he paid the man and walked up the path to his home. Opening the door, he walked inside, into the warmth and comfort he missed so much. The entry way was decorated casually with a coat hanger and a table with a vase of flowers on it like most other homes. Setting his bags down he walked out of the entry room and into the sitting room. "Token?" he called out and looked around. Where was his dread locked lover?

Getting out of the taxi Christophe gave a frustrated look at the cold and shivered from it. He hated the cold, but would always refuse to dress for it, why should he show weakness to the weather? Grabbing his ever so loved shovel he attached it to the straps on his back and followed the annoying Brit inside, looking around he wrinkled his nose slight. Sure the place was warmer and the warmth was more than welcomed, but it had that smell of linens and flowers he hated so much.

"Zis iz your 'ome?" He questioned taking a long drag from his cigarette. The place was disgusting to Christophe, it was too well maintained. Following the blonde out of the entry way and into the sitting room as they called it, he gave him a questioning look. Token? Was this his "_lovers_" name, the one he kept bragging about?

Token Black, a fun loving black guy who is head over heels in love with Gregory Yardale. Or so you would think. Though this twenty year old does make it look pretty convincing, and it's all a part of the job. And what job would that be? Well Token is a police officer, to be more exact he's an undercover police officer. His assignment is to gain Mr. Yardale's trust by any means necessary, get proof of his crimes, and arrest him for multiple counts of murder, theft, weapon trafficking, human trafficking, and conspiracy to commit murder. Though gaining Gregory's trust wasn't easy, it took almost two months before Token could even get Gregory to look twice at him. Token has done everything to keep this assignment going smoothly. He's even slept with the blonde, because hey, who would turn down a naked British man with an accent to die for? Certainly not Token, it's free sex and it's always welcomed from both genders.

Token has gained enough of the naïve blonde's trust to get a key to his ever so lovely home. Once this assignment is over Token will get that promotion for sure, nothing could go wrong. They have been "dating" for a little over a year now and Token simply can't wait for the bust to come. That's when the day finally came, the day the police captain said there was more than enough proof to arrest Mr. Yardale. Token was more than happy when it was time for the arrest, that's when the unthinkable happened. Gregory left in what looked like a hurry to France.

Now Token was in a panic, he wouldn't get the promotion he had been dreaming about, and he wouldn't be able to actually find someone real to care about. That's when he got a call from the blonde, and the call was a huge relief, he'd be back in a week. But he'd be coming back with The Mole? What kind of name is that?

After telling the police captain of this news they found out just who the Mole is. And the news made the dreads sporting Token completely happy, a two for one deal. The Mole was after all a international fugitive who's wanted for multiple counts of murder, theft, weapon trafficking, human trafficking, grave robbing, arson, and conspiracy to commit murder. The crimes he had committed were more than double that of the blonde he was "dating." And so came the new assignment, gain both of their trusts. This was going to be a piece of cake, it would almost be unfair… almost.

Today is the day they get home, dressing as best as he could he got himself ready for Gregory's return. Wearing a neat lavender button up blouse, black dress pants, black dress shoes, he deemed himself ready to welcome his lover home. Deciding against pulling his dread locks into a ponytail, he walked out of Gregory's room when he heard his name being called out. Walking downstairs through the entry way he walked into the sitting room and hugged the blonde from behind."Missed you babe." He grinned, his voice having no accent only the normal American tone, as he kissed Gregory on the cheek. Token wrinkled his nose smelling dirt, blood, and… smoke? Looking over at Christophe he knew right away it was coming from him. Releasing Gregory he kindly held his hand out to Christophe for a greeting hand shake. "Name's Token Black," he said trying not to sound too civilized and more street sounding as his back story implies.

"Yes, this is my home, Gregory said smiling. He was impressed with his own home, making it comfortable for himself and token. He even made a game room for the dread locked man. Speaking of dread locked man... he leaned back against his chest, loving being held. Smiling at the kiss, he turned his head to kiss his jaw. "Sorry for leaving so suddenly. I had to pick _him_up," he said and crossed his arms once self was released. He only hoped that Christophe would show some manners to Token and not go on about how may people he can and will kill.

Giving Christophe a look he mouthed the words 'Be nice'. If Christophe were to hurt Token in any way he would end up destroying all of his cigarettes and that shovel of his.

Token listened to Christophe, damn it he wasn't going to give up a last name! How else would he be able to do family background checks? He would have to ask Gregory when they are alone about it. Gaining this Frenchman's trust is going to be a hell of a lot harder than Token originally thought. "Don't worry about it Greg, I understand completely." He replied with a more than convincing smile. Calling his lover by a nickname seemed to make it more realistic looking.

Christophe waited to see this lover of his and when he finally showed up, well let's just say he didn't like him. The aura Token was giving off was something he just didn't like, maybe he was being paranoid but it's better to be safe than sorry. Glancing at Gregory he fought back a look then brought his attention back to Token. Be nice? Huh… this might be hard. He looked at Token's hand then back at him, "No." He said through a hit of his cigarette, it was just him telling him he wasn't going to shake his hand. Christophe knew if he did he wouldn't be nice about it.

Gregory smiled lightly at the nickname. Only token was give the right to call him Greg or any nickname, anyone else would have their arm or leg broken. Kissing his cheek he held onto his hand, missing his touch and being around him. Token made him feel normal. With Token he wasn't a rich British man nor was he a mercenary. It was normal, it was nice. He smiled as token tried to introduce himself but it quickly fell as Christophe denied the handshake. Glaring at the brunette he said nothing. It would only make things worse and the last thing he wanted was to give him that look he gives whenever Gregory threatens someone with a painful death.

Token smiled at the kiss, who knew a mercenary could be so cuddly. And holding hands was something more than welcomed, sure it was all based on a lie and Token felt nothing for the British man, but he wouldn't kid himself he did enjoy holding hands.

Christophe hated introductions with last names, maybe it was just another him being paranoid thing, but he never has used his last name. That would be a secret he'd never tell. "Christophe Ze Mole." A short sweet and simple reply. Turning his attention back to Gregory he glared dropping the act, "Which room iz mine beetch?" He questioned with a harsh tone to make up for not insulting Token on the spot. Yes soon he would be insulting him, but that would have to wait a bit.

Turning his attention back to Christophe, Token was a little confused when he called Gregory a bitch. The Mole does realize his boyfriend is standing close by, right? Though the feeling between the two seemed to be nothing but hatred, so Token didn't say a word about it. Before getting himself too distracted into his own thoughts Token said, "I made you a welcome home lunch… Ok I ordered it but it's good pizza." To keep up with his looking more street back story he did order out meals from time to time to mix things up a little. Though he did like the looks he would get from Gregory, it was funny each and every time.

Rolling his eyes he nodded to the staircase. "Upstairs, third door on the left," he said simply and turned his attention back to his dread locked lover. Making a face he thought about pizza. It was something delicious in Italy but here it was caked in grease and meat. Though, he forced a smile for him."Great..." he said and quickly changed the subject. "I'll tell you all about disgusting France. It was horrible as always," he said with a smile as if he was expecting it to be like that the entire time.

Watching them Christophe made a face, being in love with a British man, he must be out of his mind. Then his thoughts went to what would be happening tonight, great… just great. With a nod he said, "Going to zound like a zoo in 'ere tonight." He blew smoke out at them then walked to the staircase. Walking up them he walked into the room that would be his and rolled his eyes. Way to white and clean, Christophe would have to fix that. Closing the door he pulled his shovel off of his back and leaned it against the wall. It would take some time but he would make this room feel at home.

Token couldn't help himself but laugh, it was funny his reaction to half the things American's eat. Token didn't see what the big deal was, cheeseburgers, fries, and donuts tasted good. Disgusting France? Well Token will never get why the British and the French hate each other so much, but it is always fun to hear about. "You can tell me all about it while we eat," He said before giving Christophe a questioning look as he left. The guy really did speak his mind, how rude! It's better to lie about things than be rude, right? Damn it all to hell! Why did he have to bring back him? Token would have already turned in Gregory and gotten that sweet promotion if it wasn't for him. He didn't want to do this forever.

Gregory blushed brightly and glared at the French man. Huffing he muttered, "I knew I should have just left him back in France." Shaking his head he watched him leave, sighing in relief. "I'll have to have another talk with him later..." Now that the brunette was gone he could finally relax with his lover. Tugging on his hand, he pulled the other into the kitchen. The kitchen was nice with a stainless steel fridge, stove, and dishwasher. Everything was perfect as it should be. Releasing his hand he sat down at the table, in front of the box of pizza. "In my country we never ate anything like you Americans," he chuckled. "We drank our tea warm, not cold and had crumpets not cookies." He smiled lightly, more than happy to tell Token about his home land.

Token chuckled hearing Gregory, he made it sound like he would be talking to a child later. Being pulled into the kitchen he released the blonde's hand and sat at the table next to him. Everything in the house is so perfect, so organized, Token felt the other might be OCD about it but didn't mind. It was nice to be in a completely well taken care of home. Best part of it all is he barely had to do any work, Gregory took care of everything. Grinning at the box of pizza he pulled out a slice and took a bite. Yes Token was raised in a rich family and grew up around such things, but he still had a soft spot for poor people food which made his cover a bit more believable. Token rolled his eyes and smiled listening to his blonde love. "Warm tea doesn't taste right to me, the ice and seems to make it better. I haven't tried crumpets yet, and cookies are to die for, so… I don't know if they'll even measure up to my taste babe." He grinned wondering if that would get Gregory to make the crumpets for him to try. But he'd never prefer anything over the American food he loves so much. Taking a few more bites from his slice of pizza he felt it was ok to ask, "So Christophe doesn't have a last name? Tell me about him, he seems… rude, a bit of an asshole."

Leaning back in his chair, Gregory smiled. Hearing him talk about American things was always interesting. Their worlds seemed so different yet so the same. "Never tried crumpets? I must make you some tomorrow," he stated and nodded, hoping he had all the ingredients to make the perfect crumpets. Glancing at him he chuckled watching him eat the greasy pizza. Slowly he reached into the box and pulled out a slice. He would eat it to make the other happy. Taking a bite he tilts his head at the question, a sting of cheese going from his mouth to the pizza. Glaring at it he took a bigger bite before turning his attention back to token."That git? No, I don't know it. He just uses his first name and his code name," he said rolling his eyes. "I met him when I was younger... it's because of him I became a mercenary. He tried to kill me and just as he was about to he stopped, said I wasn't worth it." His eyes grew sad thinking about that day. Nodding he shook off the sadness and answered him simply, "Because he is French." Taking another bite of the pizza he grabbed a napkin. Such messy food.

Token grinned, he would be able to try crumpets after all. Finishing his slice of pizza he licked his lips then picked up a napkin to clean off the rest of his face and hands. So Gregory didn't know his last name… great. More work for Token. Wait, that Frenchman is why he became a mercenary? Token blinked and said, "That's a little harsh to say, at least you're alive." He smiled lightly and shook his head at the comment, not all French people are like that. Token was sure of that."Well he's your new partner and I want nothing more to get along with him for your sake." He said remembering his assignment, one way or another he would be getting to know the one known as the Mole. Whether it was from Gregory or Christophe himself, it was going to happen. "Out of curiosity's sake, why did you pick him? If you hate the French so much why make one your partner?" He questioned, really he was just curious to know why.

Gregory set the rest of the slice back in the box and wiped his hands on the napkin. Crossing his arms he looked at Token with a serious expression."That man... he made me feel worthless, like my life meant nothing, that I was alone.. and he was right," he sighed and leaned back. He had never told Token of his meeting with the french boy with the shovel. It was hard to talk about. It would get him worked up and angry. Shaking his head he tossed away the thoughts. "I know... you're right," he sighed and smiled sadly. "We just don't get along is all." Looking up at the ceiling he thought of how to best answer his question without making him worry. "Well..." he began. "I was running out of partners. All the others would either get themselves killed, caught, and the last one.. he..." Sighing he rolled up his left sleeve to show bandages from his wrist to his shoulder."Someone paid him to kill me. Loyalty can always be bought," he said shaking his head. "But I heard good things about the Mole. He couldn't be bought, he was strong, and he never gets caught. That is the only reason I would work with a French man."

Token tilted his head listening to Gregory, he noticed this was a subject that weighed on the others heart. "You seem to have changed for the better," he said mostly noting that he changed so Token could improve in life. Watching Gregory his eyes widened at the bandages, so he still wasn't telling Token everything. Lightly touching his bandaged arm he sighed, a bit depressed at just now finding this out. "Greg…" he began then gave the blonde a sad look, "Why didn't you tell me you got hurt?" He questioned leaning over and kissing his forehead. "So the Mole is perfect as a partner, at least he'll never turn on you and always listen when it comes to missions." He said with a smile, sometimes Token thought he should get an award for his acting. This was just too easy. Moving a few dreads out of his face Token let out a low sigh, so much for this all being easy.

Gregory blushed lightly. "Thank you... Then again, if it wasn't for him I would have never come to America, I never would have met you," he smiled lovingly. He was so happy that he had met this dread locked man. It made his life perfect. But that sad look.. it hurt his heart to see the other like that. Flinching lightly at the touch (he only let Token see his weakness) he said, "I didn't want to worry you... it's nothing, really." With that he pulled down his sleeve and smiled at the kiss. "Yes... I believe he will make a good partner for the time being. I still hate him though," he smirked. Looking him over he realized just how much he missed the other. Slipping onto his lap he wrapped his arms around his neck and whispered seductively in his ear, making sure to use as much British words as possible. He knew how much the other liked that.

Token chuckled lightly listening to him, "Your hatred of him makes me smile babe." He said with a smile that quickly turned into a grin as the blonde moved onto his lap. Wrapping his arms around Gregory he listened to the whispers, oh how Token loved British words on top of the accent.


End file.
